“That’s just a deed, Gary. The cattle and the brand and the water right to Johnnywater Spring, and the squatter’s right to the pasturage and improvements are all included--as you would have seen if you had read it carefully. The other paper is the water right, that he got from the State. Besides that, I have the affidavits of two men who swear that William Waddell legally owned one hundred head of cattle and the funny X brand, and that everything is all straight to the best of their knowledge and belief. “I insisted upon the affidavits being furnished, since I couldn’t afford to make a trip away up there myself. It’s all right, Gary. I could send them all to jail for perjury and things of that sort if they have lied about it.” Patricia pressed her palms hard upon the table and gave a subdued little squeal of sheer ecstasy. “Just think of it, Gary! After almost despairing of ever being able to have a ranch of our own, so that you could ride around and really manage things, instead of pretending it in pictures, Fate gave me this wonderful chance! “I was working up our mailing list, and ran across an ad in the Tonopah paper, of this place for sale. The ‘Free grazing and water rights in open range country’ caught my eye first. And the price was cheap--scandalously cheap for a stock ranch. I answered the ad right away--that was over a month ago, Gary. I’ve kept it a secret, because I hate arguments so, and I knew you’d argue against it. Any, anyway,” she added naïvely, “you’ve been away on location so I couldn’t tell you. “That country is all unsurveyed for miles and miles and _miles_. Mr. Waddell writes that there are absolutely no grazing restrictions whatever, and that even their saddle and work horses run loose the year around. He says the winters are open----” That last bit of information was delivered somewhat doubtfully. Patricia had lived in Southern California since she was a tiny tot and did not know exactly what an “open” winter meant. “It’s scarcely settled at all, and there are no sheep in the country. I knew that would be important, so I asked, particularly. It’s in a part of the country that has been overlooked, Mr. Waddell says, just because it’s quite a long way from the railroad. I never dreamed there was any unsurveyed country left in America. Did you, Gary?” Gary had slumped down in the big chair and was smoking his cigarette with thoughtful deliberation. His eyes veiled themselves before Patricia’s glowing enthusiasm. “Death Valley is unsurveyed,” he observed grimly. “I’m not talking about Death Valley,” Patricia retorted impatiently. “I mean cattle range. I’ve been corresponding with Mr. Waddell for a month, so I have all the facts.” “_All_ the facts, kid?” Gary was no fool. He was serious enough now, and the muscles along his jaw were hardening a little. His director would have been tickled with that expression for a close-up of slow-growing anger.